No Questions Asked
by Electric Smile
Summary: A series of short stories from Vega's perspective as he is sent to collect the girls who become the Dolls.
1. Enero

So I've hit a bit of a wall on Kinetic/Potential, but I promise I am still working on them. Most of the end parts are written, it's just the transitions that are giving me trouble and I thought that if I took a break and worked on something else for a bit it might help.

* * *

She's from Madrid. City girl, confident, undeterred gait, apparently unaware of the glances people throw her way for that bubblegum pink hair of hers. Gutsy. I like it, I think. Nothing wrong with a little splash of color, and it makes her easy to spot and tail. I've been to Madrid often enough to know the layout. I wonder briefly if she's ever been to Barcelona. What are the chances that he sends me back to Spain first? Is it intentional? Coincidence? I can't really say because he doesn't really let anyone in on the inner workings of his mind. I don't think we'd understand if he did, to be honest. I'm an intelligent person, but even I must admit that I can't grasp him.

She is the first target on a still growing list. I've been given the details on the five people currently on it. They are all teenage girls. Only sixteen and their worlds are going to come crumbling down. I was sixteen when-

I've been assigned to change their lives. For better or worse, I suppose. That's not an admission of guilt. Maybe they are-so far-quite pretty, judging by the photos attached to their files. It seems counter-intuitive for me to bring them into a place like Shadaloo. There is a lot of ugliness there, and how will it effect them? How does it effect me? But it's my job. You don't question the jobs he gives you. He has plans for these girls, though he hasn't told me what that means yet. Maybe he never will. I just hope he doesn't intend to do them harm because I can't abide someone damaging such lovely things. I swore it on the day-

Her home is in a fairly recently built complex. I have watched her for three days. Traced her route from school, timed when her family comes home from work, when they sit down for dinner, when the lights go off in the windows of their apartment, when they come back on in the morning, when parents leave for work and when children go to school. I still look young enough to pass for a student myself, even though I'm nineteen. But the sorts of things I've been learning, they aren't what the average kid should know. I'm not average though, am I? I don't mind. Average is disgusting.

That's why her pink hair is so nice. It declares her unwillingness to bow to the standards of the mundane, boring people around her. A defiant cry against conformity, candy colored curls flying like a rebel flag in the middle of a revolution. Perhaps it could just mean, though, that she likes the color pink a lot. Either way.

At 1:02 AM, I find my way up the fire escape ladder bolted to the bricks of her familiy's apartment complex. I pull out the screen of her bedroom window which faces east towards home. I slide up her unlocked window-because in the pleasant late summer air, she likes to leave it open sometimes-and I slip into her room. There are two bookshelves on the wall but only one holds any books. Romance novels. The obligatory Cervantes. A book on how to use audio programs on her computer. The other shelf has a stuffed bear on it. Some pictures in frames. Her and another girl. Her and perhaps that's her family. A mother and a father and a brother. Surreal in how normal it is to everyone but me.

At 1:06 AM, I put the cloth over her mouth. Her eyes flutter open briefly before closing again. I wonder what she thought of what she saw.


	2. Février

She's a bit brave. I have to appreciate that because even if it doesn't make someone physically strong to be brave, it means they have some different kind of strength. I have fought and killed men one would call 'intimidating' and they have less bravery in all their enormity than this girl has in one of her red hairs. I say she's brave because she puts herself before her little sister when I break into their home. They are the only ones home, parents out for a dinner, something to do with one of their jobs. I remember how important it was to be seen in functions like that. I found it boring most of the time. I wonder if this girl would have thought the same, had she been asked to go along.

She's shouting at me to go away. I don't speak. I tend not to. Adds to the mystique, I suppose, masked man dressed all in black, utterly silent, for the most part. I like to mock the ones I think deserve it. But I can't properly say she does. I don't know what will happen to her once I take her from here. The girl from Madrid, I haven't seen her since I brought her back to Shadaloo. I've thought about her now and then. It's only been a week and a half but every day I wonder if she's still alive or not. Am I dragging this girl to a similar fate? Does someone so brave and pretty deserve it, whatever 'it' is?

I don't make the rules anymore. Not since I've signed onto this, and I have to defend my decision now. I thought I'd be put to good use, exterminating the vermin that deserved it. Not stealing girls from their homes in the night. But if it weren't me, who would it be?

The girl watches me as I get closer and she's taking her breaths through gritted teeth. Her younger sister whimpers, fingers digging into her sister's shirt. I pry them apart best as I can and the little girl screams when I touch her arm. The target screams too, she thinks I've hurt her sibling, and she jams her knee into my ribs. I shove her back and she tries to grab my hair. I don't know why so many people do that. Out of some desperation, maybe. The younger girl falls to the floor, the older one tries to hit me again and I take her by her wrist. She's afraid. That's plain. But she still fights and that's what makes her brave.

I spin her around so her arm is twisted behind her back. She kicks and shouts. She's telling her sister to run and get help but by the time she reaches anyone, we'll be gone. I drive her to the ground, I've got a knee between her shoulders. One of her heels manages to catch me in the back. It doesn't hurt. I've got both her wrists together. Zip tied quick. She shrieks when I pull her to her feet and she tries to smash the back of her head into my chest. I think this is crude but it's the quickest and easiest way and right now that's more important than form so I get the tape around her head once to cover her mouth. It can come undone if she breaths through her mouth, dampens the adhesive, and pushes it away with her tongue, but I only need to get her to the car outside. I tug the dark cloth over her head and push her towards the door. She's screaming but it's somewhat muffled and doesn't echo off the paving stones and nearby buildings.

I push her into the car. She trips on the edge of the seat and falls in face first. She kicks her feet, never gives up. She's so persistent. It's admirable. The driver glances back as I get in. "Saw her sister take off. Aren't you supposed to take care of witnesses?"

"Do your job. I'll do mine." The girl in the seat beside me is kicking, maybe at the potential threat to her sibling. I put a hand on her shoulder, showing her I'm still here. I haven't gone after her sister. She sobs hard when I touch her and screams again when the car starts to move. She lashes out with her feet again. She doesn't stop the entire drive back to the airstrip. Bravery is important, and she is quite brave.


	3. März

He's been making me learn German and the ins and outs of some laws relating to adoption and custody since before he gave me his list. I thought it was for this assignment, and I remember feeling uneasy at the idea of posing as someone interested in adopting a sixteen year old when I barely qualify as an adult myself. But he says that's not the plan at all, admonishes me for thinking he was that stupid, and it takes a lot to not respond indignantly. Instead he asks if I can affect an English accent because the target is quite fond of English men. I don't know and I don't _want _to know how he knows something like that. I've been practicing whenever possible. One of the eighteen skills of ninjutsu is impersonation, and I suppose now is the time to test whether I've honed this one or not.

"Excuse me?"

She stops short, looks over to me. "Yes?" Her voice isn't timid exactly, but she is sort of reserved.

"You work here, don't you?" 'Here' is a library not far from her school. She helps people with the computers when she isn't reshelving books.

She nods. "You need help?"

"Yes, please, I can't figure out how to get this to save in the right format for class." I point to the screen. Of course I know how to save it correctly but I need some way to speak with her. She's...well, I don't know the right word for it, but she's very quiet, and isn't used to much attention. Being noticed by me should flatter any girl, so for someone like her, it's probably fairly unexpected. She'd be pretty if she changed her hair a bit. Learned how to put on make up. Spent more time outside. Maybe picked a different shampoo. Wasted opportunity. Focus. "Do you think you could show me?"

She's too shy to look incredulous that I've made it this far in life without figuring out how to save a document in the preferred file. Instead she nods and takes the mouse. "How would you like to save it?" She isn't nervous exactly but her voice isn't strong.

I tell her and she explains it to me as she does it. I pretend that I'm enraptured. "Oh, it's so obvious when you do it. You're good with computers."

She shrugs and her eyes dart away from mine. "I like them."

"I should learn more, shouldn't I?" I lean my head into my hand and glance briefly at the screen. "What would you think if I asked you to teach me?"

Her eyes get big like she's gauging me. Is this a joke? A trick? Is he mocking me? Good instincts. Or maybe she's just a bit insecure. "Oh, I don't know. I can show you books..."

"Well, to be honest, I'd like it better if I learned from you. You seem so smart, and you were so nice to help me out like this."

"Oh-" She's turning red and her eyes only meet mine perhaps a tenth of the time. "I-Um, it's just my job, that's all."

"So you'll do it?"

"Well..."

"How about this?" I cross my arms now. "Let's meet somewhere for dinner. I'll pay for it, I don't mind. We can set a rate, and we can work it around your job and school. I mean, just a few nights a week. Not too much, right?"

"Oh-I don't-Well-"

I smile a little, not too much as that'd be a bit creepy, but enough to make her smile, too. "Ah, you're shy, aren't you? It's cute, don't worry." Her entire face is red and the pair of books she was carrying are hugged to her chest.

"O-okay, I'll teach you," she says finally with a nod and a little smile. I tell her a time and a place, enthusiasm still lacing everything I say. The date I set is a bit late, and she seems to have reservations about this. But a few more compliments and she's nodding and smiling again. She's too flustered to realize the address I give her is an empty building.

She shows up at 10:14. I watch her as she looks down at her phone, then back up at the empty storefront. Her expression goes from neutral to crushed. I don't know if this will be the worst thing I've done to her, or if what I'm taking her to will top it. With quick and quiet movements, I put a hand over her mouth and drag her back to the car waiting in the alley. She can't recognize me by my eyes alone and she doesn't fight as hard as the previous girl. She's terrified, eyes wide, face pale, just like-

The car is moving and she's whimpering. Pitiful but I can't bring myself to be disgusted. Using people is what I do but I think for a moment of how many men have abused the trust of how many women. Men like-

I remember her phone. I take it from her carefully. Toss it out the window. Maybe someone will find it and wonder whose it is. More likely someone will take it and make it their own. Many people are guilty of that in some way or another.

* * *

I thought I'd try to have some variations in how the girls are kidnapped because otherwise it would probably get a bit boring reading every time that their homes are broken into and they are stolen away.


	4. Aprile

He's sending me off to Italy now. More names have been added to his list and I wonder when it will stop growing. He says 'they' are almost ready and I suppose he means the girls I've kidnapped. No remorse. This is my job.

He warns me not to trust anything I see in Italy. I don't understand why he'd say that but I don't argue with him. It wouldn't be wise.

There's a crisp sort of chill as the sun comes down. Winter's not too far away. This girl lives in the countryside but not in the higher elevations where snow will fall any time now. Their home is larger, which is better for me really as it puts more space between her and the rest of the people in the house. Their sizable property is dotted with trees, one of which I'm waiting in now, and there is a pond, too. Her family is fairly wealthy and as is the case with so many families of wealth, she and her younger brother are used for bragging rights. She manages perhaps a dozen different hobbies. Ballet, horseback riding, violin, painting, football. Surely there's a cabinet somewhere in their home dedicated to housing every award she's ever won. I wonder briefly as I wait for their lights to dim if her little brother resents her success, as she has given him lofty standards to be judged against, or if he admires her and aspires to be as skilled and well-rounded as she is. She wants to be a doctor one day but she's hesitant to leave her family behind to further her education. Family is just as temporary and fragile as everything else, so perhaps she's foolish to worry. She'll lose them some way or another.

I don't know why I read over this information. He gathers it and most of it seems inconsequential to me. But I don't know what he's doing with them so perhaps it matters somewhere down the line what their hobbies and goals and ambitions and school clubs are. I can't say. Only that it's mildly interesting, to have such a detailed peak into these very different lives that all must end up in the same place.

Something moves in the lake. Perhaps just a fish. A frog. I shift my weight in the branch to better see the water. I lean out further. I can barely see my own reflection by the light from the moon. The rippling water smooths itself out some. I don't see any animals. The surface is still now. Oddly so. Like glass, even.

"Listen-!"

My throat gets tight and it's like someone let a hummingbird loose in my chest. Her voice, just like I remember it.

"People speak highly of kindness, but no one's really in the business of showing any."

My eyes are burning through the glass surface of the pond, I can practically see her, a silhouette etched into the water among the reflected branches of the trees. I know it's her. I know.

"So you promise me, little boy. You promise me that you won't let people take advantage of you. And you won't let them take advantage of each other. The last thing this world needs is another selfish person. Don't let them walk over you, but don't you dare let me catch you walking over them, do you understand me?"

Have I gone insane? Why can I hear her, see her, I smell her on the air for God's sake, this is horrific! "What is this?" The words are little whispers, no louder than the leaves when the wind goes through them. I have to focus. Have to tear my eyes away from the silhouettes skating across the pond. Little boy takes his mother's hand, nods, even if he doesn't really understand what she's saying to him, but she's bitter and angry and demands it of him all the same.

"I just want what's best for you."

"No." It's her voice and it's my voice at the same time. I stare horrified as the silhouettes change. It's me. I'm holding a woman's hand but that woman is not my mother.

"I want you to be happy." The voices still overlap even if the image of my mom is no longer there. I think my mind has split open and it's spilling out across this lake.

"God no." I have to get out of here. I have to-

"If I have that, then I'll be happy too."

I see her clearly now, not a dark shape clutching my shadow's hand, but a girl with large blue eyes set in a round, pale face and she's angelic and demonic all at once. The sight of her somehow terrifies me and I don't know why because I've never seen her before in my life. I practically throw myself out of the tree. I stumble when I hit the ground. I thought I felt someone watching me but when I try to find them, there's no one there. I run towards the house and all the lights are out and now I realize the way the sky is getting sort of pink to the east that it's almost sunrise and how have I been here for so long? Where did the night go? Who was that girl? Why was my mother-

No, no, focus, work, job, now. What waits for me if I fail?

God damn it, I already have!


	5. Presque

I got the Italian girl. I was all in a panic and I got to the target quite late, almost at dawn. I can't remember what took me so long to get to her, or why I was so worked up. I suppose because I was running late. But why was I late? It's going to bother me for the rest of my life, I think. I can only afford to dwell on it for a little while. I'm dead tired and all my focus has gone to the next target. I may have been woken up in the night. I had to go somewhere, didn't I? His orders. Weird hours. But again, it's all fuzzy and I don't remember it well. Maybe I just had odd dreams.

I'm back in Japan. I lived near here for a little while and happened upon a man who thought I had potential to be a great 'warrior'. How very dramatic. He offered to teach me ninjutsu, and I accepted. It seemed graceful, and as though it required more skill than most martial arts. Until then I'd just fought in fist fights in seedy bars, learning by watching others, trying to pick out their mistakes and avoid them myself with...variable results. My lowest time. This was the way out, the path back to something more beautiful, something more like an art. But then Enjou decided to rescind his offer. No explanation, full stop, good bye. I fell in with another group and finished learning from them.

She is, actually, younger than the rest, and I'm a bit intrigued about that. He says he sent two operatives after her. This was before he started his Doll project, and this girl was to be the prototype, I suppose. But she thwarted her captors and got to be free, at least, for a little while more. It was foolish of him to send someone who _wasn't _me for one of these assignments, really. So a more subdued approach is required to take her.

She laughs and smiles a lot. She's giggling with her friends. They're all wearing their school uniforms still. They wander by an arcade, and play for awhile. She seems like quite a happy and enthusiastic person. I suppose a happy girl is a pretty one. She seems very carefree. That's good too. Be happy while you can. I don't know what's going to happen to you, I just know it has to be done. Don't question orders. That's why they're orders, not suggestions.

I have to pretend like I know what I'm doing when I follow them inside the noisy, colorfully lit, flashing hellhole. I do not enjoy video games, haven't really played any. I exchange a bit of money for some tokens because I can't be certain how long they'll be here and I don't want to lose track of them. I also don't want to draw attention by standing around doing nothing in a place full of kids coming home from school. I pick a game that keeps her in my line of sight. The bright blue gun handles nothing like a real one though why should I expect it to? Games are for fun, not for killing drug dealers who tried to stiff their suppliers or for lawyers who dug up a bit more than they should have or rival gangs overstepping agreed upon boundaries.

Monsters that look vaguely like people lumber around on the screen and the game is speaking loudly, competing with all the others. I feel so out of place, even if many of the people here are about my age. I don't belong with these kids. So does that mean I belong with Shadaloo? If his regime collapsed tomorrow, is there anywhere else I'd make sense to be? I need a fallback, a failsafe, a distraction. After this assignment, I'll start it. My excuse to be back home, to get away from the ugliness of Shadaloo because since my last assignment I feel almost ill every day and I don't know why.

I'm not very good at this game apparently because it says I'm dead. If this were a real gun, and those were real people, then I'd be the only one _not _dead, so isn't this a bit ironic? I glance up at my target and she and her friends are talking, not playing anything. Why don't they move on already? This place is a sugar-coated headache, with all the blaring pop music and bright flashing colors.

She's walking over here. Probably just going to pass right by me but it doesn't hurt to be aware of what she's doing. I put in a few more tokens. I've got to beat this game, that's my new mission for the moment. She stops right behind me and I don't allow myself to feel tense because there's no good reason for it. "You're not very good at that. Need help?" Damn. She goes right for the jugular, doesn't she?

"Sure." I put some tokens in for her but really I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't let her hear my voice and get a good look at my face but there's something so infectious about her friendliness. I think of plants and trees that distort themselves to better face the sun. There is some unspeakable quality about her that just makes her very easy to be near, even for someone like me who is definitely uninterested in being friends with a fourteen year old girl.

She giggles again but when the game starts she's a killing machine so the sound of her childish laughter stands in stark contrast to the gargling, bloody death wails of her digital victims. By the time we're finished playing a round, her face lights up in a smile and she points to our scores. "Nice effort, but looks like I win!"

I shrug though I really don't like her telling me I'm bad at something. Again, there's that exuberance from her and I can't bring myself to be annoyed with her for implying I'm anything less than perfect. Besides, I like to flatter pretty girls. "You're simply too good. No one stands a chance."

She laughs and goes up on the tips of her toes for a second. "Well, it just takes practice I guess!" She doesn't really break eye contact, she's not shy, not afraid, not intimidated. Her smile recedes to a grin and she cocks her head as she asks,"Where are you from?"

"Spain."

"Wow that's pretty far away! What brings you to Aohura City?"

Don't take advantage. The words flit through my skull without any effort from me, almost like they were planted there instead of some organic thought of my own. My mouth feels dry and I think the world around me is sort of smearing together like a wet painting someone's run their fingers through. "I don't know," I say and I leave. I don't know what I was thinking. I went back to Shadaloo without the target. I can't lie to him. He knows my own mind better than me and I can't think of anything more horrifying than that. I can only take solace in the fact that at least one of these poor flowers will get a chance to blossom.

* * *

so two things-mentioning enjou here, i haven't read ibuki legends so i don't know what his role within their clan is. also i don't know if it is canon or not that bison sent people after sakura to try to make her a doll. i heard people talk about it on a forum somewhere as if it were, and it makes for a cool enough idea i guess so there you have it...


	6. Juni

It was the first time I ever failed at something he assigned to me. To say he was displeased would be an understatement. Because of me, he must search out a new target and I'm not sure if I should allow myself to feel flattered by the fact that he didn't have a second one chosen already. As if it was outside the realm of possibility that I shouldn't succeed. I will be given a second chance to retrieve a different girl from Japan, but with a warning of what should happen if I make another mistake. That threat kept even the barest whiff of hesitation at bay, but I fear that may not always be the case. I might grow comfortable in my position in this organization, grow delusional about my importance. He wouldn't _really _harm or punish me. He _needs _me, I'm the only one who can do what I do.

But none of that is true. I'm not sure how I feel about it yet. To know that I could be replaced should motivate me to perform well. Instead it sometimes leads me to wonder if it's all worth it. I came here to sharpen my skills and measure them against the others. When he offered me this position-a lower one at first-he told me there was always room for advancement. Now that I've hit the roof, what's next? Do I wait to drown in the blood of the people I've climbed over and killed to reach the top? Do I bow out now and seek my own path with no one to be compared to or threatened by? Would he even allow me to leave? But then, how do I know what my worth is if there isn't a standard? No, being here is a good thing. I can only get better at my job, can only put myself farther ahead of the competition, can only use these markers of progress to show myself that I am always improving on my own definition of perfection. Staying here is the only option, the best option, I'm certain.

I'm being sent to Germany again. This is not the replacement for the missed target, but the next girl on the list. I've, of course, been practicing German as he's ordered me to, studying the law books he piles on my list of things to do without yet explaining what it is I'm to do with them. I'm not exactly fluent yet, even if he's been forcing me to communicate with him only in German. I can't even express my frustrations because I'm already on thin ice due to my previous lapse in success. And because I don't know how to say 'you're really pissing me off you piece of shit' in German.

My assignment is to infiltrate a juvenile detention center and kidnap one of the prisoners there. A young girl has received a sentence for killing a man who assaulted her. I say, good for her. Pigs like that only have one purpose and that is to die. People like to speak of 'rehabilitation' but no amount of penance can exonerate a man who harms a beautiful woman, especially one so young. Her 'crime' was not considered self-defense as it did not happen while she was being attacked. It was somewhat premeditated. If I understand right-given that the information was in German and I'm still hesitant to profess to any level of proficiency-she wanted to get back at him for what he'd done to her. She said she hadn't intended for him to die. It's what he deserved anyway.

The first place to hit is the surveillance room. One of his programmers wrote a virus that will disable the cameras. Plug the drive into its slot. Ignore computer's warnings about the risks of executable files. Run program. And the place is blind. It will give something for the guards to wonder over for a moment until someone thinks to look at what processes are running.

It's quite dark but not pitch black. It's so late most of these people are probably asleep. When I see her for the first time in person, through the narrow pane of plexiglass in the door, she looks like she's been crying. I want her to know she hasn't done anything wrong, even if everyone else thinks she has. Part of me says absolutely not, don't speak to the target unless absolutely necessary, don't ruin this again or there will not be a 'next time'. But it pains me. It really does pain me, right down to my core, to see someone so pretty suffer alone for the 'crime' of defending herself. How can I _not _speak to her?

I open the door to her cell, and she sits up right away. Certainly isn't expecting anyone to come in here this time of night. I ask her what's the matter, terribly conscious of every syllable. She tries to look composed, as though she hadn't been upset at all, but she's obviously very tense. She says she's sorry and she wishes she could take it back. I tell her to never apologize for getting back at someone who hurts her, that the man deserved it, and if it were up to me, she would have been commended for her actions, not condemned. She looks deeply confused. Either because my German is really more incomprehensible than I thought, or because it's hard to accept that a prison guard would condone murder. But at least she isn't crying anymore. I look back over my shoulder to reassure myself no one is there.

I move quick because her screaming would be like a bomb going off in this silent, dark place. Being in this line of work has made me extremely aware of how easy it is for someone to leave you unconscious. Not something I thought about often before joining Shadaloo, but now I'm often left with a sort of hyper-awareness of my surroundings, even when I'm not on a job. She struggles for just a moment and I wonder what she thinks I'm going to do to her. Then she's out, no matter how hard she struggles she can't force herself to stay awake. A futile effort but life is full of them I suppose.

* * *

I hope this chapter doesn't upset anybody...please always remember that my values are not reflected in a psychotic serial killer's point of view. i don't think any criminal should be punished with death. also, i thought it would be interesting if the reason Juni adapted so well to the doll programming was that she had killed someone before(albeit, unintentionally) and that made it less of a shock to her to do it again.


	7. Juli

This is probably the most farfetched story out of all of these but it was also the most fun to write...so hopefully it is fun to read.

* * *

I almost wish I hadn't been picked for this because the assignment is so absurdly risky, so monumentally detailed, that it feels more like I'm purposefully being set up for failure.

I have to play a role again. Only this time, I'm not flirting with a shy teenager, or making the barest of comments at passing prison guards and frightened inmates. I'm supposed to be a German lawyer acting on behalf of the dead mother and father of the target, bringing a case against a Native American man in order for him to lose his bid for guardianship of the recently orphaned girl. Complicated doesn't begin to describe it. I don't understand why he's making me do this. I've taken the rest by force, why not this one? When I question him, he gets angry. Says he knows what he's doing, and that if I'm as skilled a ninja as I say, then imitation should be no issue. He says, at the very least, to be grateful for the fact that the court proceedings will be in English since the Native American man doesn't speak much German. My God, what a boon.

I look utterly ridiculous too. He demanded a fairly drastic change in appearance and I understand why, even if I don't want to. I was forced to cut my hair to look more professional, and change the color. I've got to wear these colored contacts which are hell to put on properly and I can feel them on my eyes every second I'm wearing them. _And _finally I've got to wear glasses. Glasses. My eyesight is perfect but he says it will help me look significantly different. I can't bring myself to even begrudgingly admit that maybe it does. If you were expecting me, you'd realize it was me after a moment. But given that these people haven't seen me before, and hopefully won't in the future, it shouldn't be an issue.

The best part? _She's_ here. Because I needed another problem right now. Interpol has taken interest in the case due to the girl's parents' deaths being linked to Shadaloo because _some people _don't know how to do their jobs. Now I have to fake my way through a trial, in a foreign country, with Chun-Li Xiang, the most tenacious Interpol agent, breathing down my neck.

Every time I enter the courtroom I think I'm going to vomit. The Native man is enormous, nearly as tall as Sagat but even bulkier, and I don't think I've ever laid eyes on someone with such an intimidating glare. I'm certain he despises me for trying to take this girl from him. And for the fact that these reports of unfit living conditions were all fabricated. Though, I suppose, he might not know that I'm affiliated with the people who have anything to do with that. It's a two day affair, and I'm finally relieved to hear I've gotten the necessary verdict, that the German accent I affected was convincing enough for apparent natives, that I didn't get anything completely wrong.

The girl, Julia, stands up angrily on hearing the verdict, yelling at me in German that she didn't ask for this, that she wants to go with Thunderhawk, that the reports are all lies. I make a show at trying to comfort and reassure her that this is what her parents wanted for her. She glares at me, calls me a rat, and punches me in the face and it takes every ounce of self-control for me to not respond in kind. I try to stay passive but almost impulsively shake my head at her actions as the bailiff takes hold of her. Rather that innocuous action than something more violent. People are filtering out of the room. Thunderhawk passes by me on his way to speak with Julia, I suppose. He points at me and says, "This is _far _from over." I'm tired. I'm tired of all of these people. I'm tired of this job. I want a break.

"Excuse me, Mr. Wagner?" So tired. But of course I'm not done here. Of course she's going to harass me because she didn't get her way. The rush from winning this trial, in a country that isn't my own and based around laws I've only known about for the past couple of months, has been completely smothered by the horrible way everyone around me has reacted. I want to choke someone. It's not a good idea for her to try to speak with me now.

But it's part of this awful, awful job, so I look up at her as she keeps her confident and assertive pace beside me. "Vahg-ner," I correct her, emphasizing the 'v' sound.

She repeats it properly this time, adding, "Sorry."

"No, that's fine. What do you need?" All ov zese 'v's und 'z's, I svare I'm goink to fucken zees up.

"I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Mr. and Mrs. Schroeder."

"I must tell you, Miss Zha-Zhee-"

She pronounces it for me, Xiang. I know how to say it, unfortunately.

"_Ja_...Well, I must tell you, I am not so familiar with them. They, as you can tell, did love to travel, and thankfully, they had little need of me and my services."

"Yes, which is why it's so curious and notable to me that you've chosen to represent their child who didn't ask for any representation."

I shake my head slowly. "Julia is clearly very distressed by her recent loss, and at her age, she is already not in a position to be making decisions such as this on her own. It is important we put our trust in the government to find her the caring family she needs right now."

"What do you think of the claim put forth that those reports of unfit living conditions were falsified?"

At that I take in a deep breath, cock my head, raise my eyebrows. "What negligent individuals would want their behavior to be exposed to the world? I have seen, as I'm sure have you, the lengths which people will go to in an effort to hide their crimes. Their disrespect for human life. It's a tragedy, one I wish I could say I'm not familiar with."

"How are you being compensated?" She thinks she's found it, but not quite.

Again I shake my head. "Who can think of such things in moments like this? The money is not what is so important now. I will ask of her only some small payment, a little, little fraction of what her dear parents have left to her."

She nods just a little but I'm not stupid enough to think she believes anything I have to say. "How did you meet Mr and Mrs Schroeder?"

"It was, I think, ah, September, two years ago. Mr Schroeder, as you know, was a physician, and was being charged with a malpractice suit. I was asked to represent him in that case, and he must have enjoyed my services enough to want to keep me around in case of future issues. I am saddened to see that their deaths are these 'future issues'."

"How long have you been a lawyer?"

"Four years total."

"Wow."

"Yes?"

"You look pretty young."

"It's lucky I suppose. Good genes. You do not look so old yourself, Miss Xiang. You have been with Interpol for...how long?" I say it with a small smile, just the barest crook of my lips. This smile means I _don't _want to tear your throat out for talking to me.

"Almost a year."

"And they have you working cases like this already? I would expect that, maybe, they would have you stuffed away in an office somewhere. You must be quite talented to be involved in such work so early in your career."

"It's lucky I suppose." I don't like her tone, the way she uses my own words like she suspects them. Most women, I can flatter into oblivion. But she's completely undeterred. Someone as beautiful as her is probably quite used to hearing nice things.

My smile fades a bit and I think I'd like to go for the kill. Beat her to it. "Xiang...that name, it's familiar. You tell me, do you happen to be related to the Interpol agent Dorai Xiang?"

"Yes." Her voice is cold but professional.

"How is he these days?"

Her jaw clenches and I can read her face like a book. She wonders if I'm saying this on purpose, but is too cautious to accuse me of such a thing. If she's wrong, she'd look crazy, and she clearly doesn't have any evidence against me. "He's passed away, actually. The work of Shadaloo."

"Oh...I hate to hear such a thing..." I shake my head , trying to appear compassionate.

"Thank you." Now her eyes flash back up to mine and there's a sort of determination there. "But I take comfort in knowing, one day, however long it takes me, that every single piece of subhuman scum involved with Shadaloo will be rotting away in a jail cell for the rest of their lives."

I smile though I don't let it reach my eyes. For some reason I feel like letting her know I understand her threat. That I know that she knows it applies to me, personally, but that she can't outright accuse me because she has no real proof aside from her instinct. Her very, very good instinct. "Well, that is an ambitious goal."

"I'm a very ambitious person, Mr Vahg-ner." She's mocking me, though it isn't quite plain. She knows it's not my real name. She knows I'm not a lawyer. She knows I'm a Shadaloo plant, but does she know why? Does she know we're after this girl, and not the money her father left behind to her? I'm inclined to think not, since she questioned me about compensation. Close, little rabbit, but not quite. I wonder if it would devastate her to learn that as soon as Julia is returned to the German foster care system, Shadaloo will have added another piece of subhuman scum to its ranks and she didn't see it coming.


	8. Santamu

The next assignment involves no pretending, no accents, no fake occupation. It's not even that far away. A girl in rural Vietnam. How he even finds these people are beyond me. What's so special about them, if anything? She's a farm girl. She has an older brother. No mother. A father. The kids are taught martial arts by a neighbor, and I think that makes her the first one of them to come with some experience in a fight. I doubt she's ever killed anyone, but he claims she's already quite skilled with a staff.

She's holding one now, using it to guide some chickens back to their coops, but it's more of a stick, really. She sings to herself, a sweeter sound woven amid the more coarse cackling and clucking of the hens at her feet. I glance out again to where her brother assists her father with a stubborn horse. Its ears are laid against its skull and it knows something is wrong. Perhaps it smells me. I wait for them to finally get the animal moving back towards the stable at the other end of the pasture, the opposite end of their property.

The girl taps at the ground with her staff behind a straggling chicken. The horse whinnies stubbornly. Her brother makes a comment that I can barely hear and wouldn't be able to understand if I did. The old, wooden door to the stable is pulled open, it creaks noisily and drags through a thin layer of dirt. The pair of men disappear inside. The smell of horse shit is carried over by the wind and I reflexively wrinkle my nose but the girl doesn't seem to notice it at all. It's interesting, the foul things we teach ourselves to tolerate through overexposure.

I drop down behind her as she checks to make sure the chickens have all returned to their coop. She hears my feet hit the ground, though it's a light sound that speaks nothing of my height-I think I'm nearly a foot taller than her. She spins quick and gasps instead of shouting. Her pole flies to my side, I catch it with my hand and yes, it hurts a bit, but I can't waste any time. I want to get this over with. I jerk her forward with the pole, my knee sinks into her stomach and her breath is gone. She's unable to cry for help. I get the sack over her head. The horse is braying out for her, trying to warn the men handling it, and I suppose this just has the opposite effect, preoccupying them further. She struggles, grabs a handful of my hair-why do they all go for my hair-and headbutts me in the face. The mask takes the worst of the blow but she knows what she's doing so I feel it. She tries to maneuver the pole, it smashes into my heels and I actually stumble a bit. Good for her, I suppose. I catch it with the bottom of my foot and the end of it snaps off in her hand. It isn't made for fighting with, so it's fragile.

I pull both her hands behind her back. I move to tie them together, have to be quick before she catches her breath. I hold her wrists together with one hand while the other searches for the ziptie.

She jerks one hand free and throws herself back with a sudden movement. Pain flares over my back, across my shoulder, this horrible burning sensation as my skin is ripped through and the muscle underneath is sliced into by splintering wood. She drove the end of the pole just under my shoulder blade. It isn't deep enough to reach anything vital, but that doesn't make it less painful. I grit my teeth and maybe some small utterance of pain slips out of me, but I have to focus. I get her hands together again. Every movement of my right arm sends another wave of pain over my back. Her wrists are tied now. She manages to cry out. I hear someone shout from behind us. I don't look. I have to move.

The snapped end of the pole is still buried in my shoulder because if I rip it out I could lose more blood. The car isn't terribly far but it isn't very near either as such an isolated homestead would notice a visitor in their drive. She's thrashing and kicking, trying to get her feet on the ground, to stop me from practically dragging her. She manages to cry out again, getting her breath back. Someone is chasing us. I hear feet thudding in the dirt. I throw her over my uninjured shoulder and it's so difficult with the pain that comes from moving the injured one. I start to run and her fists are pounding into my back. I've got her legs held tight together, pressed against my chest so she can't kick me.

I do shout this time when she takes hold of the piece of wood and twists it as hard as she can. I nearly fall, almost lose hold of her, but regain my footing and grip. Almost there. I can see the car. I think the driver knows the situation has gone sour as he's heading towards me now. How did I let this girl get the better of me? Am I slipping up?

I throw her into the back and her foot manages to catch me in the side of the head. My world spins briefly but I feel the other door handle and I wrench it open and fall inside. Something hits the window just as I get the door closed and I see a crack appear in the glass. A rock, nice and level with my skull. Her brother is dashing towards us, fierce, angry, vengeful, how dare we take his sister? How dare we tear apart his family?

I don't have an answer for him. I never got one, so why should he?


End file.
